Easy Pickings Puns

That's the harvest part.

Step 1. Go to a farm.

Step 2. Go to the chicken coop.

Step 3. Find a baby chicken and pick it up.

After four days of nothing to eat I was delirious from starvation. In my desperation I went hunting for the first thing that looked remotely appetizing. Soon I stumbled upon an indigenous macaque, and with a focused throw of my spear I skewered it in one hit.

Only half the battle was over, though. I had no idea what to do with this corpse. I've cooked easy things like beef, poultry, and pork but never a monkey. Fortunately, a wandering traveler came by, so I asked him how I should prepare it. He said, "That's easy. Just boil the monkey. Nice and fast." Then he left.

While it did sound easy, boiled meat usually doesn't taste good. However, another wandering traveler soon meandered by, so I asked him what to do. He said, "If you're patient and want good flavor, slowly spit roast the monkey over a fire." He then walked away.

That sounded much better, but I was too hungry to wait that long. As fate would have it, a third wandering traveler sauntered by, so I asked for his advice. He said, "If you're pressed for time but still want something delicious, then skin the monkey, render its fat, and deep fry the meat in its own fat." He went on his way.

I had three unique options to pick from, and while I hadn't immediately chosen one I definitely learned something new:

There's no wrong way to eat a rhesus.

It sounds like an easy job, you just pick it up as you go along.

Supposedly it was a sold out tour, fairly apparent considering not a single seat was available on the bus!

At one point we happened to come across a field FULL TO THE BRIM with cows, and so I pleaded the bus driver to stop so we could take it all in.

We disembarked and took our places at the field fence, taking in the view of cow after cow.

I wondered to myself how it was so easy for folk to distinguish between cow and bull so readily, and so voiced my frustrations to the farmer close by.

“Excuse me sir, I’ve looked at your cattle and can’t for the life of me pick out a feature to help tell me the sex!!!!”

The farmer looked at me for a brief moment, painted with concern before asking,

“What about the udders…?”

I shook my head and frowned, and with mounting uncertainty replied,

“Not sure, you’d have to ask them!”

At the grocery store with my wife and we walk past the meat counter.....

Me: Oh these ribs must be the extras!

My Wife: Huh? What are you talking about?

Me: The package says they are Spare Ribs.

My Wife: Oh geez, you really need to stop.

But it's not an easy instrument to pick up.

But the pantomimes were pretty easy to pick up!

Back a few decades, I was working in a program with a local college in the Middle East.

The name of the program for ExPats has the clever acronym of "IDEA" (hey, I said it was clever); which stands for "Inter-Departmental Educational Adjunct". It's interdepartmental because my particular specialty not only covers field geology but also paleontology and a bit of archeology thrown in for good measure. Everyone hopes to have a good IDEA...

ahem...

Well, we saddle up and head for the Dune Sea out in the west of the country, where the Precambrian, Cambrian, Silurian, Cretaceous, Pliocene, Pleistocene, and Holocene crop out and access is relatively easy and non-injurious.

Well, we caravan out, some 30 Land Cruisers, Nissan patrol, and the odd Mitsubishi Galloper strong. We all get our maps, compasses and split up into 5 or 6 special interest groups ("SIG's"); where each IDEA has his own GPS and LIDAR laser ranging apparatus. Reason being, that there are very few benchmarks out in the desert, and even those are constantly at the mercy of the shifting and ever-blowing sands.

Since we're split into groups and at any one time, ranging up to and including some 50 km2, when a real find is located, a device called the "DIME" (Digital-Interface Monitor Encoder) is attached and programmed into the GPS for location later; it is a digital sort of low-frequency transponder, developed from technology used by offshore drillers and jacket setters where benchmarks are even more transitory.

The way it works is rather simple. When something is to be marked for later retrieval, a series of wooden posts are pounded in a triangular manner around the find and the DIME is set, programmed with the GPS and attached to one or more of the posts.

That's the theory, at least.

Everything works well, especially all the hardened electronics and computer gizmos, but attaching the DIME to the stakes is the real problem. It can't be nailed, screwed or fastened with any sort of metal contrivance as that farkles the magnetic field and causes all sorts of goofy spurious signals. Zip ties don't last long in the heat and duct tape is right out. Many sites have been lost to the shifting sands this way.

Velcro doesn't work too well, as the sand fills the hooks of the receiving piece of velcro and soon renders it useless. String or fishing line work, but that's temporary (they melt). Glue or mastic are out as these are supposed to be temporary. Even plastic sleeves don't work due to the heat out

The Duke of Dance: If i don't stop soon, you're really gonna have a bone to pick with me.

The Duke of Dance: I need to stop being such a numbskull.

The Duke of Dance: help.

Sans: I gotta write these down.

The Duke of Dance: I don't have enough backbone to deal with my own shit

The Duke of Dance: but that's tibea expected.

Sans: I find this humerus.

The Duke of Dance: damn

The Duke of Dance: stole my next one.

The Duke of Dance: I'm not fibulaing you when i say, i'm running out of material. I'm really trying to think of more puns here, but i'm patellaing you, i'm out.

Sans: I don't even know this many bone names.

The Duke of Dance: My cranium is empty. i'm running bone-dry here.

The Duke of Dance: But you'r quite sternum in your wanting of these puns.

The Duke of Dance: don't worry, i'll stop temporalily. Not really tho.

The Duke of Dance: I'm taking these puns to the maxilla.

Sans: Can you make a pelvis pun?

The Duke of Dance: Not really. I can't think of any. So no hip hip hooray here.

Sans: That was alright.

The Duke of Dance: Are you having a femury time?

The Duke of Dance: I find myself sacruming to the need to make puns.

The Duke of Dance: helpican'tstop

Sans: I'm having a pun time.

The Duke of Dance: I'm gonna turbinate my puns, cuz i'm on my last leg-bones here.

The Duke of Dance: i'm getting desperate, you can tell.

The Duke of Dance: I didn't name a specific bone.

The Duke of Dance: Which is almost completely mandableitory.

The Duke of Dance: I have made more puns tonight than i have in a LONG time.

The Duke of Dance: Throw me a bone here, have i made enough skeleton puns?

Sans: There will never be enough skeleton puns. Mind makin' a list for me?

The Duke of Dance: Do

The Duke of Dance: Do you want me to write everything i just said down for you?

The Duke of Dance: I'm quivering at the thought of coming up with more skeleton puns.

Sans: I don't see any arrows.

Sans: Don't be a lazy bones, come up with more.

The Duke of Dance: I'll see you later, my vertebrah.

Sans: Have you any backbone?

The Duke of Dance: I already made that one.

The Duke of Dance: :3

Sans: SCREW IT, I'M MAKING ANOTHER

The Duke of Dance: Not so easy coming up with fresh material, is it?

The Duke of Dance: Also, "quiver" is another name for one of your joints.

The Duke of Dance: I'm just really looking at medical sites for this shit.

Sans: CURSE YOU GOOGLE.

The Duke of Dance: it's tibea expected. <Favorite skeleton pun, using it again

I apologize for this wall of text, I didn't know where I should cut out parts because they're all relevant to the story. Sorry again.

Hey TFR people! So for background, I work at a kiosk in a mall where I repair cracked phones and do other mind numbing work that I can now probably do in my sleep. I've been doing this job for a little over two years and can fix an iPhone, for example, in about 15 minutes. I apologize for the wall of text. Anyway, this story happened last night.

So, a family of three walk up (mother, father and daughter) but only the father spoke to me and this is where conversation starts. Note: When I was handed this girls phone she had a case with this image on it and was already about to laugh. Customer will be C and I of course will be Me.

C: How much does it cost to fix my daughters phone and can it be fixed?

Me: Oh it's very repairable, after tax and labor, it comes to $xxx.xx.

C: Do it

Fuck, he's one of these guys...

Me: Alright then, I just need a name and signature on this disclaimer we have.

At this point, I've taken their phone and am prepping to work on it.

C: Do I have to use my real name?

PAUSE Now, over the 2+ years I've worked here, I have never heard this question. So I was kind of taken by surprise by it. For a minute, I thought he was one of those paranoid people. PLAY

Me: Um.. Well I guess you don't have to. It's preferred since we can look you up in our system faster later.

C: Oh ok.

I turn back around and start to use my tools on the phone when customer guy throws me another curve ball question.

C: Can my daughter still play the piano when this is done?

I manage to turn and see him smirking a little and go back to his serious poker face so I pick up that he's joking.

Me: Well I would hope so. Slight laughter

C: Oh ok great! She's never even touched one before so it's good to hear her skill won't change in the slightest.

I'm on the verge of outright laughing at this point. I manage to hold it back and finish my repair. I snap her grumpy cat case back on, hand her phone back when she mentions the home button isn't working.

Oh that's an easy fix

Me: Ah, don't worry. Give me one second and I'll have that fixed.

C: One. Try it now "Insert girls name"

Me: Haha well I haven't done what I need to yet.

I pull out a giant clear bag half full of spare parts.

**

My dad and I were driving to pick up some pizza the other day, and drove by the local community college. They have one of those new HD billboards, which was flashing garish advertisements for their classes and programs.

"That's a terrible sign," my dad remarked.

"Yeah, those things are distracting and annoying," I agreed. "The things flash too fast for you to really read it, and the color contrast makes it hard to read while you're driving late at night. It's not like the sign in front of my school at all (I'm a teacher). My school has slow transitions and clear lettering that makes things easy to read. It's what makes our billboard auspicious."

My dad frowned. He could tell something was coming. "Why's yours auspicious?"

"Because it's a good sign."

But it's not an easy instrument to pick up.